


Black Rainbows

by theowletqueen (nerdqueenenterprise)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/theowletqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas lets Dean see (and feel) his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Rainbows

Dean slowly, carefully, threads his fingers through Castiel’s wings. He had been downright begging to see them in the last few weeks and now that he finally can, he’s absolutely stunned.

Castiel, as a seraph, has two massive pairs of wings, the bigger one stretching well over thirty feet in each direction, the smaller wings still approximately fifteen feet long each. They are sharp, angular, ready to fight, but the feathers themselves are soft and smooth.

And the thing is - they aren’t just plain feathers. They’re a glossy black, but depending on the angle of the light they display the entire spectre of the rainbow and Dean would swear on his life that he could see star formations twinkling on the wings. He knows it’s sappy. Shut up.

As his fingers delve deeper into the feathers, Castiel lets out a soft sigh. His head, from what little Dean can see behind the huge wings, falls forward a little bit.

    “Is this… okay?”, he wonders aloud, hoping he didn’t cross a boundary, barely daring to speak. He never wants to stop stroking the angel’s wings.

    “Yes, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is rougher than usual. “It feels very good.”

Dean smiles to himself, a small, secret smile, even though the angel’s words light him up inside.

His fingers work through the long quills, straightening and untangling the few that are out of place, then smoothing over them. The further away from the base he gets the tougher the wings are, but below them is soft downy fluff. He hopes his fingers, calloused from decades of handling weapons and fighting monsters, aren’t too rough for the wings because he doesn’t think he could stop petting them even if Castiel told him to.

He works his way to the tip of the left major wing, putting all the feathers back into order and smoothing over those that don’t need any ordering. Then he starts again at the base of the left minor wing. There is mostly down at the base, tiny feathers poking out of the smooth skin of Castiel’s back, all soft and fluffy. In another situation Dean would ruffle the down, making the angel squeal without doubt, but this is special. The whole world has faded away and there’s only him and Castiel with his beautiful wings. 

Instead, he pets the down, running his fingers through it.

Castiel gasps, his head falling forward even more. Dean stops, unsure what to do.

    “Please, Dean. Continue.”, Castiel rasps, his wings pressing back against the hunter’s hands. “You aren’t hurting me, if that is what you are wondering.”

So Dean continues running his hands through the feathers. They’re warm to the touch and he can  _ feel _ the energy running through them.

He is almost done with the right minor wing when he suddenly has a feather in his hand after pulling away. It is the most crooked one he has encountered and so he pulls just a bit more when smoothing it out, but now it’s in his hand and he feels the panic mounting inside.

    “Cas?!”, he asks, eyes wide, fingers clutching the single feather. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - it just happened!”

    “Hmm?” Castiel turns around a bit, lifting his head to peer over his shoulder. He sees the feather and Dean feels his heart contracting painfully, wanting to curl up on himself. Castiel would be angry, no doubt, that Dean has torn out a feather, and he doesn’t want to face the angel’s wrath, never mind most likely never being allowed to see his wings again.

    “Oh. That happens sometimes, Dean, don’t worry.”

Dean’s breathing picks up some more. “Really?”, he asks, a smile splitting his lips.

Castiel nods, returning to his position and letting his head fall forward again.

    “Can I - can I keep it?”, Dean blurts out hopefully.

    “No, I’d rather you didn’t.”

    “Oh.” Dean slumps dejectedly.

    “Please choose a prettier one for yourself, Dean.”, the angel instructs, again pushing his wings closer to Dean.

The hunter’s head jerks up. “Choose one?”, he repeats incredulously. He suppresses the giddy laughter attempting to bubble up.

Castiel simply nods and Dean carefully puts the broken feather aside in favor of continuing to stroke the angel’s wings.

They  _ smell _ good, he realizes as he’s nearly done. Dark, ambrosial, like thunder and lightning and ozone and the sound of trumpets and falling cities and the stars in a clear summer night and a thousand other things he really shouldn’t identify as a smell. It’s addictive.

And with a sudden clarity he realizes that it’s  _ Castiel _ ’s wings he’s grooming. Castiel, who is a Warrior of God, a Seraph, an unfathomable ancient being, with awe-inspiring powers and completely alien to anything Dean could ever understand. It’s so easy to forget that he isn’t  _ Cas _ , the nerdy little dude in a trench coat with a problematic family who likes bees and drives a crappy car, but an angel, a creature older than Earth. And he’s letting Dean - damaged, unreliable, dirty, tarnished, dumb, worthless fuck-up  _ human _ Dean - touch his wings. 

Dean feels honored beyond compare and terrifyingly small at the same time. 

He smooths his fingers one last time over the curve of the right minor wing and then withdraws his hands, placing them in his lap and waiting for a reaction out of Castiel.

The angel sighs again and then draws the wings up behind his back.

_ This is it _ , Dean thinks.  _ It’s over now _ .

Castiel turns around, sitting so close to the human he’s almost sitting in Dean’s lap, and curls his wings around them, enveloping them in a warm, dark tent smelling faintly of ozone and fathomless power. His eyes are glowing lightly with his Grace pushing at the boundaries of his vessel.

Dean stares into Castiel’s eyes, completely frozen. His heart is beating incredibly fast and he barely dares to breathe.

    “ _ Choose one _ .”, Castiel repeats, eyes fixed on Dean.

With trembling fingers, Dean reaches for the wing on his left, his hand landing on one feather at random, not daring to break the eye contact.

    “Take it.”, the angel insists and so Dean pulls. Lightly, at first, then harder, until he holds the feather in his hand, never breaking eye contact with Castiel. He presses the feather against his chest, silently vowing to never lose it and always keep it close.

Castiel leans in until they’re nose to nose, still keeping Dean’s gaze.

When he kisses him, it’s electric and careful and soft and it makes Dean dizzy. When he pulls back, there are stars dancing in front of his eyes, but he can see Castiel smiling.

 


End file.
